Choices
by Limmet
Summary: Jazz is adjusting to his new life among the Autobots after his defection. But not everything is as easy as he and his new bondmate would have wished for. Sequel to ”Captured”. AU.
1. Optimus Prime and Prowl

_**Author's note: **__Originally, I had never intended to write a sequel to __"__Captured", but since several readers left me such kind reviews and asked for a sequel, I decided to do at least something of the sort. _

_And I say __"__something of the sort", because this isn't really what I would call a __"__full" story as such. More of a compromise between my original intention not to touch the storyline again and the request of some readers. _

_Basically, this fic will consist of a number of chapters, each detailing a scene between two mechs in the aftermath of Jazz's defection. While the scenes are in chronological order, they are not really connected to each other with any in-between scenes, and they're not supposed to be; so please bear that in mind when you read. _

_In any case, while it's not a complete story as such, I hope those of you who requested a sequel will think this is better than nothing, at least! _

_**Backstory:**__ If anyone wants to give this story a try without first having read "Captured", the gist of the prequel is as follows: AU. Jazz is a Decepticon who gets himself captured by the Autobots. While a prisoner, he and Prowl eventually develop feelings for each other, resulting in Jazz's decision to defect. _

_**Acknowledgements:**__ Thanks to HitokiriKurisuta for offering helpful suggestions and doing an awesome job beta reading this. _

_**Disclaimer:**__ Transformers doesn't belong to me in any shape or way. _

* * *

Optimus' optics were fixed on the mech sitting across from him. The frosty silence hanging over the room was highly unusual; in fact, he'd even go as far as to say that it was unprecedented. Not even when the two of them had had their differences in the past had the atmosphere held anything like the current chill that now seemed to permeate the Autobot leader's chassis, as though it were a living entity grasping for his spark, seeking to extinguish it with its icy fingers.

Of course, Prowl had never been a cordial mech. Not by any stretch of the imagination. Optimus had, during the years, heard many words used among the Autobots to describe the Second in Command, often spoken in careful whispers or conspiratorial voices: cold, stiff, anti-social – even emotionless. But while Optimus acknowledged that Prowl's critics were not pulling their accusations out of thin air, he had seen more redeeming traits in the officer as well. And during all the time that they had worked together, he had slowly realized that Prowl was not as unfeeling as was often assumed.

He hid it well though, and Optimus had never fully managed to break through that ever-present barrier which safely and surely shut other 'Bots out, even if he had occasionally gotten a glimpse of the emotions that hid behind it.

Instead, the two had always kept their relationship on a strictly professional level, never letting it delve into something more personal; never into anything that could be classified as a real, cordial friendship. Optimus was well aware that he wasn't the most social of mechs himself; and while he did come across as friendly and jovial to the 'Bots he commanded, it was a rare thing for him to get close enough to develop deep, emotional bonds to anyone. Like Prowl, he had kept other mechs at a distance.

But regardless of their respective social inadequacies, he and Prowl had always maintained a good, solid relationship. They had understood each other, perhaps better than any of their fellow Autobots ever had. Even when they hadn't seen optic to optic on an issue, there had always been a feeling of mutual respect and acceptance between them.

This time, everything was different. Optimus had thought that he had known his Second in Command and what to expect from him.

And what not to expect.

Perhaps he had been naive, but in a world full of uncertainties and doubt, he had hoped there would be firm ground to stand on at least somewhere. Some sort of stable point in a precarious existence, plagued by a war that could at any time tear apart everything their kind treasured and spread the pieces to the wind. But when it all came down to it, not even Prowl had been able to offer him the anchor he had craved.

Of course, news of recent events had found their way back to Optimus while he was still attending to things on Cybertron, but the specifics he had not found out about until his recent arrival on Earth, and he had been taken totally aback. The complications had given rise to swirling thoughts that had kept him occupied well into the night when he had struggled to slip into merciful recharge. And while things had not been any clearer to him the next day, he had still summoned Prowl to his office.

The more general questions relating to Jazz's defection had already been asked and addressed, and now, Optimus found himself treading on a minefield. Everywhere there were explosives hidden, waiting to go off, and it seemed impossible for him to reach his intended goal without setting his foot on them.

But, he made his decision. Darting around the issue would only serve to set more of those treacherous mines off than going straight for it would.

"As I understand things, you and Jazz are... involved? Am I correct?"

He had tried to say the words without putting any sort of judgment into them, without letting his own personal feelings on the issue, on what was right and what was not, colour them. He had even avoided using the more loaded word "bonded". But he knew he had failed when he registered the voice that was coming out of his vocalizer.

Disapproval. Judgment. Failure to accept. All the things that he had tried to hold back were now wrapping themselves around his words, distorting them, robbing them of true meaning. Turning them into a mockery of a question.

He wished he could have withdrawn the words and made another attempt, but it was already too late. But in the end it didn't matter; he had already passed "too late" long ago, at the very moment he had called Prowl into his office. The two of them knew each other only too well, and when coming face to face after Optimus' long absence on Cybertron, Optimus had realized that Prowl had already registered what his commander had unwittingly given voice to just a few seconds ago. Words had not been necessary. Neither had the unintended scathing undertones that had accompanied them.

And so, they had endured the frostiest meeting he could ever have imagined. Optimus had felt Prowl's annoyance and frustration rising by the minute as his commander had avoided the issue, letting his questions instead focus on the more comfortable issues of Jazz's defection and the scope of his dedication. For all intents and purposes, trying to judge to what extent Jazz could be trusted as an Autobot.

But the unspoken question had hung in the air, hovered over them like an ethereal ghost. Unseen, but its presence still felt.

Optimus had already known about the state of things; the other inhabitants in the Ark had been quick to inform him. And the issue had been debated, quite hotly so. Some had found it shocking, others merely questionable. Many were disapproving, and a few accepting. Opinions were many and varied, but every 'Bot had one.

And so did Optimus.

Cold blue optics met his across the desk; like two icicles trying to drive themselves into his skull. And in a way, it was just as painful. His trusted Second in Command, looking at him like that, disappointment and resentment etched into every line of his face.

The reply couldn't have been more simple and uncomplicated.

"Yes."

_If only everything else could have been as simple and uncomplicated_, Optimus thought.

Silence followed. Well, at least Prowl had been honest. He had not darted around the issue as the Autobot leader had himself, nor had he tried to deny the state of things or flat out lie. At least Optimus could grant him that.

The Autobot commander realized that it was his turn to speak. After all, he had gotten the answer he had asked for, plain and obvious, as though he had asked about nothing more than whether it was still raining outside. It annoyed him that Prowl had made it sound so simple, and yet he, Optimus, was sitting here wracking his processor over it. But words seemed to elude him as he desperately scrabbled for them, like a human child trying to catch a sun reflection within her hands, with just as little success.

And Prowl only sat there in silence; Optimus could see how he was withdrawing further and further into himself, as he would often do when he had difficulties handling an emotional issue. Perhaps there was nothing Optimus could say that would get through to him in this state, but as Autobot leader, he had to deal with this one way or the other. Regardless of the consequences.

"And you don't see a problem with it?"

Oh, if only looks had been able to inflict pain, Optimus would have been writhing on the floor in agony right now.

"No."

Again, a short, to the point reply that told of the speaker's unwillingness to debate the issue more clearly than any endless harangue of words could ever have done.

Optimus felt frustration overwhelm him once again. No, perhaps there was indeed nothing he could say that would get through to the Second in Command, but he had to try. If only things hadn't been so difficult. He made another effort to gather his thoughts and transform them into proper sentences, to try to make Prowl understand the way he saw things, as gently as it was possible, if at all.

But the words that came out of his vocalizer were not those he had intended. Instead, they were vicious and harsh, totally devoid of the calm reasoning he had aimed for. Deep inside, a part of him listened in horror as the insensitive, hurtful words poured out without him being able to stop them.

"You're telling me that you don't see a problem? That there is now a former Decepticon among us who has defected simply because he happened to develop some sort of twisted attachment to his Autobot captor while incarcerated? Not because he actually _cared_ about our Autobot values or realized the inherent wrongness of the Decepticon way, no, but because of some bizarre _infatuation_ with his former enemy! And what of the day should he perhaps no longer feel that way, is he then going to switch factions once again?"

Optimus drew his breath. The worst of what he was about to say was yet to come. And still, he was unable to stop himself.

"But regardless of all that, there is another, much weightier issue at stake here – the fact that _you should have known better_! Known better than to take advantage of your position and use someone like that. And if you don't think that you have, I want you to consider this, Prowl: can you honestly tell me that you _truly_ believe that, were the circumstances any different, Jazz would still have chosen _you_ to be his bondmate?"

There was no outrage following his words. No show of suddenly burning, righteous anger. Or even resentment. No, to his surprise there was nothing at all, as if Optimus had just ceased to exist to Prowl then and there. In that moment, the commander realized that all that the two of them had built up between them during the years was now gone as certainly as had it never existed, and he doubted that even an eternity would be enough to bring it back.

Optimus resisted the impulse to bury his face in his hands in desperation. The realization that Prowl might never forgive him for the awful conclusions he had just uttered was a dreadful burden to bear. And perhaps, he thought, as vicious self-loathing and disgust stung his spark, Prowl wasn't the only one who would never be able to forgive him. Never had he thought that he had it in him to say something that he knew would so grievously hurt any of the 'Bots he commanded.

No, not him. Not the great Prime, who always had a kind word for everyone, who always managed to see the good in every mech, who would always offer support and comfort to his comrades whenever it was needed.

Who would always loathe himself for not being able to say this, of all things, more diplomatically.

But the dice had been cast, and perhaps things couldn't have turned out any other way. Fact still remained, his appointed Second in Command had done something he would never have thought of him, and Optimus was unable to understand it regardless of how long and hard truth stared him in the face.

And having heard how the story went around the Ark, no one else really understood things either. As far as anyone knew, Prowl, together with Ironhide, had brought the captured 'Con in one day, promptly placing him in a holding cell. And with the exception of a quickly overplayed scene during which the prisoner had been recaptured after a failed escape attempt, no one had even seen the skid marks of him. Not until after his supposed defection had been made public and Prowl had released him, whereupon it had also become clear that the two of them were now bonded.

What had transpired in between was anyone's guess.

And guessed they had, the Autobots.

Waves of vicious rumours had been making their way around the headquarters lately, each telling its own unpalatable story of the events that had led up to the 'Con's defection and his bonding to Prowl. On a few occasions, Optimus had felt himself more embarrassed by some of the 'Bots' overly-imaginative speculations than he had by the Second in Command's actions. He did not for a second believe that Prowl had willfully manipulated the prisoner or processor-washed him into accepting Prowl as his bondmate. Or that Prowl had been so desperate for a bondmate that he had offered the 'Con his freedom in return for a mock defection and a subsequent bonding to the tactician.

But regardless, Optimus found himself forced to admit that from where he was standing, things did not look good. What _would_ one make of a situation like this? Autobots and Decepticons did not bond with each other; even the mere thought was preposterous and something that he had only heard being entertained in a few off colour jokes. So whatever it was that had led up to such an unimaginable outcome, it had to be nothing short of spectacular. And not in a good way.

He supposed that Prowl was more than aware of these circulating rumours himself. There was no way he could have avoided overhearing the racy speculations that were now spreading like raging wildfire. Certainly, the time that had followed Jazz's release from captivity couldn't have been easy for the tactician.

And, Optimus realized with a sting of guilt, Prowl had been, if not expecting, then at least _hoping_ that his commanding officer would see things differently. That he, who knew the tactician better than anyone else, would give him the benefit of the doubt and accept the unlikely state of things. It might have been the only thing that had kept his spirits up during all this time when he had been met with suspicion and doubt wherever he had turned.

But Optimus had let Prowl down; had shown him that he really was no different from all those other gossiping 'Bots. No wonder the tactician had been so cold and distant when they had met optic to optic and he had realized that the desperately needed help and support weren't forthcoming.

Still, as much as he might have wanted to, he could not support Prowl in this. Regardless of what had transpired between the two in that holding cell, Optimus was convinced that in the end Prowl had ended up making the wrong choice. Under the desperate and dependant circumstances Jazz had found himself in as a prisoner, how could anyone think that his choice of bondmate had been based on his spark's true desire?

But Prowl had thought so. And whatever it was that Jazz had felt for him, Prowl had twisted those feelings into something that he assumed was real affection, simply because he had wanted them to be. That Jazz hadn't known any better was one thing, but Prowl certainly should have.

And now there was no return. Optimus had told him about all this in no uncertain terms. The vain hope he had entertained that his words would, despite their lack of tact, serve as a wake-up call for the tactician was long gone, and instead their only effect had been to alienate him even further, cementing his conviction that he truly stood alone.

Optimus sighed. No, Prowl would not let go of this relationship willingly. The question was, could Optimus, as Autobot leader, make him? Or a more burning question yet, _should_ he? Never before had he entertained a similar thought, of personally intervening in a budding relationship. Not very long ago he would have found the whole concept ridiculous and laughed it away, had anyone mentioned it. Two mechs bonding with each other was nothing out of the ordinary in the Ark, and while there had been times he had found certain liaisons more questionable than appropriate, he had never dreamt of considering doing anything with the intention of breaking them up. Such things were always the private business of the mechs involved, and it was not his place to meddle with them.

And was it even within his authority, Autobot leader and Matrix holder as he might be, to order Prowl to break off what he and Jazz had started? He wasn't sure himself; the question had never entered his processors before, nor had any previous situation required him to think along those terms.

And would Prowl accept such an order if he gave it? True, he had never disobeyed an order in the past, neither from Optimus himself nor from any of his other superior officers before he had been made Second in Command. However, this time Optimus wasn't so sure of what the reaction would be. And what would he do if Prowl refused? Throw him in the brig?

The whole idea was more like a bad joke, or ludicrous farce, than a viable option. Such a development of things wouldn't reflect well on either Prowl or on himself, and it would only serve to disturb the other 'Bots under their command. A conflict like that had never transpired before, and such an obvious discord between the First and the Second in Command would be upsetting to many, disrupting the usual tranquility within their own ranks. And it was precisely that tranquility, that stability, he felt was so imperative to keep intact, seeing as how a lack of it would be detrimental to the morale of the whole Ark.

Not to mention, throwing the Second in Command in the brig was something that Megatron would do; it was not an action fit for an Autobot commander.

Turning the possibilities over in his processor, he found that as much as he might dislike it, it was not his place to order a stop to this. Not _yet_, at least. He would monitor the two carefully, that much was certain, and if things developed in a way that was unacceptable, then he would, stability and tranquility be slagged, intervene with whatever means were necessary.

He met with Prowl's optics. They were devoid of emotion but still as piercing as before.

"Well then, Prowl. I'm not going to stop this as of now, but I can assure you, I _will_ be keeping a close optic on you and Jazz. And if I don't like what I see transpiring between you two, I will not hesitate to put a stop to things. Have I made myself clear?"

The tactician didn't acknowledge this. Instead his only response was a question of his own.

"Am I excused?"

This time it was Optimus' turn to give a short, monosyllabic answer. An answer that spoke only too clearly of his disappointment with a situation he could never have foreseen, but had no choice but to deal with. And of his sadness for the trust that had been irrevocably broken.

"Yes."

* * *

_**End note:**__ Whoops, seems like Optimus isn't too impressed with Prowl and Jazz's relationship. Ah well, I guess not everyone can be as fond of the pairing as the rest of us. _

_In any case, the direction of this chapter sort of came from a review made by Artsy Resuri, so if you don't like it, you know who to blame! (Alright, just kidding, just kidding, without that review to inspire me there might not even have been a sequel in the first place. :) )  
_


	2. Optimus Prime and Jazz

_**Acknowledgements:**__ Thanks again to my beta HitokiriKurisuta for helping put this chapter into shape. _

_**Disclaimer:**__ Transformers doesn't belong to me in any shape or way. _

* * *

It was a strange, even awkward, situation. While Optimus had interviewed defected ex-Decepticons before, the reasons behind their defections had always been different, to say the least. Certainly none of those renegades had ever considered the Autobot cause because they had found themselves a bondmate among the opposing faction.

The conversation had started out similar to the one Optimus had held with Prowl – the one that had been wrought with failure on so many levels. But even though his goal was trying to gauge Jazz's feelings regarding the Autobot cause and the extent of his dedication, the commander soon found his thoughts occupied elsewhere.

This was the first time he had talked to the Decepticon–

_No, the ex-Decepticon_, he corrected himself. The red Autobot insignia was now adorning Jazz's chassis in place of the previous purple travesty, and so he should be thought of as an Autobot, regardless of how hard that little detail would be to remember at first.

So, _this_ was the mech that had, Primus only knew how, made Prowl act as though he had been a different 'Bot altogether. Like his logic processor had suddenly shut down, leaving him with only the barest of deductive abilities. So unlike the sharply intelligent tactician Optimus had thought he had known.

But, strange and twisted as the whole thing might be, this _was_ the mech that Prowl had chosen to be his bondmate. And Optimus found himself forced to admit that it wasn't impossible to see how Prowl could have fallen for Jazz; physically speaking, he was quite a good-looking Dec–

_Autobot_, Optimus corrected himself again.

And he seemed intelligent too; not up to Prowl's level, of course, but he did appear to have more wits about him than many other 'Bots. Looking at the issue from this angle, perhaps it was no great surprise that Prowl had been drawn to Jazz, Decepticon or not.

Still, that didn't make things right. And the Autobot commander was acutely aware that he had no choice but to eventually let this interview head in the same sensitive direction as his meeting with the tactician. He wondered fleetingly if Jazz would find Optimus' opinions on the matter as upsetting as Prowl had, and if he would also refuse to see the truth that was so sternly staring the Autobot leader in the optics.

Jazz was elaborating on an incident among the Decepticons that he claimed had raised doubts in his mind of the rightness of their cause, and yet, Optimus found his thoughts drift away. And they stranded on the matter of just how he should put forth what he had to say – what he _needed_ to say – in a way that would be less offensive than his previous words had with such painful clarity been to Prowl.

The importance of the matter was like a heavy weight on his shoulders, pressing him down. This might be the only chance he had to stave off the undesirable development before it was too late; before it had ventured too far on the path of the unacceptable for him to take any less than drastic actions. He fervently hoped that the issue would play itself out on its own, that at least one of the two 'Bots involved would come to his senses and realize that their relationship was not a desirable one. Not under the circumstances that had created it. It would be painful, yes, and feelings would no doubt be hurt in the process. Still, having it end quickly was better than seeing the ship steer towards what couldn't be anything short of disaster, its two passengers equally unable and unwilling to get off before it was too late.

But despite his desperate hopes, he had been unable to reach Prowl and make him see this. The tactician had in his stubbornness simply and utterly – for once in his life – refused to listen to reason. Instead, he had preferred remaining in his comfortable world of denial and wishful thinking, which left Jazz as Optimus' only hope of getting a relatively painless resolution to the unfortunate issue at hand.

Perhaps he would have an easier time convincing Jazz. When taking the ex-'Con's previous situation into consideration, it wasn't that difficult to see how he could have formed this strange, unhealthy attraction to his captor. The attachment might simply have helped him deal with the mental stress stemming from the precariousness of his continued existence. His total dependence on Prowl's good graces had certainly facilitated the bizarre development.

But now that he had been given his freedom back and no longer found himself in the dire situation of earlier, persuading him to let go of Prowl might not be an impossible feat. What would happen then, Optimus could only guess. Perhaps Jazz would turn on the cause that he was now, for all intents and purposes, so eagerly endorsing, and return to his former faction.

And for that reason, he had wanted to keep word of Jazz's defection from spreading; to make sure that it wouldn't reach the watchful audio sensors of the Decepticons. If they found out, chances were minuscule that Megatron would let the traitor back into their midst. Quite likely, Jazz would be shot on sight. Or, worse, made an example of.

No, if Jazz's only reason for defecting was Prowl, he would have no reason to stay in the Ark once their relationship had been brought to an end. But it would not be so simple if Jazz knew that the truth had found its way back to his former comrades. Then the option to return would be gone and he would have no choice but to stay with the Autobots, probably clinging even more desperately to his bondmate, as it would be all he had left.

It would be an unhealthy outcome, to be sure. And with that in mind, Optimus had given strict orders that the defection should be kept in absolute secret, and Jazz was not permitted to leave the Ark, as to not risk him being spotted by Laserbeak or any other of Soundwave's seemingly ever-present, spying cassettes.

The decision had been a difficult one to make though, seeing as how banning Jazz from venturing outside still made him something of a prisoner, despite his defection now being official within the Ark. And it was a prisoner's mindset that had allowed for the strange developments in that holding cell. By forcing Jazz to at least partly remain in that mindset, it seemed more unlikely that he would release himself from the invisible shackles that were now chaining him to Prowl. Had Optimus instead granted him his full freedom without any restrictions attached, perhaps his mind would also have been freed from its current bonds in turn.

Decisions, decisions. Sometimes Optimus really hated them. Not so much because they were often painfully difficult to make, but because of the nagging doubts and concerns that accompanied them. The ones that would raise those inevitable questions – whether he had truly made the right choice, and what the consequences would be if he hadn't.

And sometimes, like now, it seemed as if there wasn't even a correct, proper choice to be made. Something had to give, no matter how one looked at things.

But, he had made the decision to keep up appearances as far as the 'Cons were concerned; to make it look like Jazz was still an unwilling captive. That way, the saboteur would have the option to leave when things came crashing down; carrying with him a believable story for Megatron that detailed his cunning, daring escape from the clutches of the Autobots.

What Prowl's reaction would be when that day came, Optimus did not want to think about, but he also knew that time had the magic ability to heal even the deepest of wounds. It would take time for Prowl to forget and move on, but if the tactician would be willing to let others help him in the grieving process, Optimus would be the first at his side. At least that much, if nothing else, he could offer his Second in Command.

And who knew, perhaps Jazz would, after all, not decide to return to his former faction, even if he thought better of his bizarre relationship with Prowl. That would, of course, be the best outcome, perhaps even serving to encourage more 'Cons to defect to their side.

Though, he doubted it. While defections had infrequently occurred on Cybertron, none of the Earth-based 'Cons, apart from Jazz, had ever defected. Perhaps it wasn't so strange when one thought about it; not only were their numbers here rather limited, but the two factions were now very much isolated in their own respective headquarters.

Back on their home planet, things had somehow been... different. On Cybertron, the Decepticon faction consisted of many spread out cells and groups; a constant influx and exchange of members characterizing most of them. Few groups ever stayed inert long enough to become as tightly knit as the one on Earth. But here, the faction had almost turned into an entity of its own, not unlike what humans would call a "sect", with even less room for personal opinions or ideas than was usual within the Decepticon ranks. It was highly unlikely that anyone belonging to such a group would consider defection a viable alternative, Jazz's decision setting an example or not.

Well, then. Some things were as they were, and one could not change them. It was preposterous to think so. With an almost strenuous effort, he pushed his wandering thoughts away, clearing his processor. It was time for that inevitable question. There was no point in putting it off any longer.

"There's another thing I want to ask you that relates to your recent defection." He made a pause, bracing himself. "As I understand things, you and Prowl are... involved? Am I correct?"

It was the exact same way he had posed the question the last time he had asked it. Unimaginative, yes, but he couldn't think of anything better. Before his and Prowl's meeting, he had long mulled over how he should frame this burning question, and that was the best, least offensive option he had managed to come up with.

Granted, the success had been limited, but that had more to do with him bringing the issue up at all than with an unfortunate choice of words.

Jazz didn't miss a beat though, as were it a question just like any other. "Yeah, that's correct. Me and Prowl are bondmates now."

Like the tactician, Jazz wasn't making any efforts to deny the state of things. But much to Optimus' relief, the ex-'Con hadn't assumed the immediate posture of defense that Prowl had.

"Yes, that's what I've gathered. And this relationship is something I wish to discuss with you..." the Autobot leader offered somewhat hesitantly, hoping the interview wouldn't deteriorate too much from here.

Jazz looked somewhat taken aback. Probably he hadn't expected someone of such importance as the Autobot leader to concern himself with other mechs' private issues like this. Which Optimus under normal circumstances wouldn't, of course.

"Ah... I see. Is there a problem with it? I admit I'm not fully familiar with what's acceptable in your ranks and not in such matters, but I hope our relationship hasn't broken some sort of Autobot law or taboo or anything? I mean, I can understand if bondings between Autobots and Decepticons aren't allowed, but I've defected now, so it shouldn't count, should it?"

There was a tint of confusion in Jazz's voice, as if the saboteur truly had no idea what Optimus was getting at.

"And I know that Prowl is Second in Command and all, so him bonding with mechs under his command could skew his priorities if he had to make an important strategic decision or something... but from what I've gathered, there aren't any spelled-out regulations against it, are there? And if you're worried about one of your high-ranking officers confiding in a mech with questionable loyalties, it's alright. We can put a temporary hold on our relationship until I've proven myself, if that's what it takes..."

Jazz was almost on the verge of babbling, as if he were frantically searching his processor in order to come up with as many objections against his and Prowl's relationship as possible, and then disposing of each of them with a proper counterargument before Optimus had the chance to consider them any further.

Well, if one would take in account all these _other_ issues that made the affair questionable, Jazz could probably continue to talk for quite a while yet. But those were not what concerned the Autobot commander, nor what had kept him awake last night, stubbornly preventing him from going into recharge.

"No, Jazz. That's not what I'm referring to," Optimus interrupted him. "The issue I wish to discuss with you is a lot weightier, more so than all those other arguments taken together."

He drew his breath and prepared himself for the worst before he continued. This would hardly be pretty.

"What I'm concerned about is... the nature of yours and Prowl's relationship. From where I'm standing, I can only come to the conclusion that Prowl has taken advantage of his previous... position in relation to you, and that's not acceptable. I understand that your take on the situation is different, but it is my experience that mechs involved in complicated emotional issues like this are often unable to see what others do. To put things simply: I'm concerned that your feelings are not what you believe them to be, and that this delusion will only end up hurting both Prowl and yourself in the process," Optimus explained, an odd sense of relief coming over him now that his worries were finally out in the open.

He had expected a number of possible reactions from Jazz. The same mortally insulted resentment that Prowl had shown. An aggressively defensive stance aimed at protecting and defending Prowl and his actions, not unlike how victims of long-term abuse sometimes reacted when confronted. A frosty, flat out I-have-no-idea-what-you're-talking-about denial. Or just plain, unadulterated anger.

But Jazz's actual reaction was not contained within the spectrum that Optimus had envisioned. Instead, there was only one emotion that the Autobot leader could see, clearly etched onto the face of the other mech.

Surprise. Pure, honest surprise.

In the silence that followed, Optimus could almost see how the gears in Jazz were starting to turn as he worked the implications over in his processor. And how realization then slowly dawned on him.

"Oh."

That was all. And yet that single utterance still spoke volumes, as had Prowl's short and clipped replies earlier.

Now, it was Optimus' turn to be surprised. Judging by the subdued reaction, it seemed as if this take on the situation had never entered Jazz's mind before, not even subconsciously. No, as far as Optimus could tell, the assertion was a previously un-thought, utterly foreign concept to the other mech.

And that was not what the Autobot commander had expected. Despite the unkind assertions thrown his way, Jazz had not assumed the defensive stance of before, when Optimus had at first hinted he had misgivings about Prowl and Jazz's involvement. The first words that had then left the saboteur's vocalizer had been aimed at protecting that very relationship, because as much as he might want to ignore them, he had still been able to see the potential problems and doubts that it raised.

And yet, Optimus' last words hadn't set off a similar tirade. Jazz simply looked stumped and taken aback, like he had no idea what to say in response. As if the other mech had just accused him of being responsible for the snowstorm that had caused a major blackout in some neighboring human cities last winter.

Another thought surfaced in his processor, demanding to be acknowledged.

_Is it possible that I could have been wrong about all this?_

It was the first time that the Autobot leader had even remotely entertained the possibility. But in his experience, mechs who were in denial about something were usually the ones who would offer the most persistent counter-arguments when confronted with the uncomfortable truth. And surely, if his misgivings were true, Jazz had to at least on some subconscious level be aware of the state of things, and should right now be busy rationalizing or explaining away the problems, like he had tried to do just a moment before. Right?

He might as well continue his bluntness, considering that Jazz thankfully seemed to find the approach less offensive than the Second in Command had.

"Jazz, I'm going to ask you what I asked Prowl." He paused for a brief moment before continuing. "Do you really believe that you would have chosen Prowl as your bondmate had circumstances been different?" Optimus inquired, optics firmly locked on Jazz to gauge his reaction.

The saboteur seemed to consider this carefully for a while. When he finally gave his answer, his voice sounded oddly thoughtful and introspective; so uncharacteristic of the otherwise talkative mech.

"Well, had things not unfolded as they did, I would still have been a Decepticon, and there wouldn't have been any chance of something developing between me and Prowl in the first place. But what circumstances we find ourselves in is often beyond our control, and we can never know what could have been. I might very well have ended up joining the Autobots from the start, had I just found myself in a different situation."

He hesitated, as if he wasn't really sure he knew where he was going with his explanation.

"I suppose we can always ask ourselves what would have happened had things only been different. And to be honest, I don't know the answer to your question. All I can say is that right now, in _these_ circumstances, yes, I... care deeply about Prowl, and I want for him to remain my bondmate."

Surprisingly open-sparked words for a former Decepticon, Optimus thought. Certainly Jazz could never have been able to talk about such things within his former ranks. The commander found himself fleetingly wondering whether Decepticons even bonded with each other in the first place, or if an act so inextricably intertwined with tenderness and care was beyond them. He had never thought such a question relevant enough to pose to any of the other ex-'Cons he had spoken to, but perhaps he would ask Jazz about it later. Now wasn't the time, though.

Despite Jazz's unexpected reaction and answer, Optimus still found himself unconvinced. As honest as Jazz sounded, it was all too easy to delude oneself when one didn't want to see an uncomfortable truth. But perhaps the unlikely relationship was indeed a real, honest one, devoid of the emotional baggage and misguided feelings that one would expect from the circumstances that had preceded it.

And perhaps not.

Regardless, it was still too early to make a final judgment. For now, he would keep giving the two the benefit of the doubt and see where it went from there. He wasn't sure what the least desirable course of action would be for him as a leader: not dealing with a relationship that was destructive for both parties involved, or making the mistake of breaking up one that was emotionally sound and healthy.

In any case, he was still determined to keep his optics open for any signs of things not being right.

"Very well, then. I will take your word for it for now. But if you ever feel I have a point in what I have said here today and you find yourself unable to deal with things by yourself, I want you to bring matters directly to me," Optimus concluded.

Jazz merely nodded at this, the look of surprise still lingering on his face.


	3. Ironhide and Prowl

_**Acknowledgements:**__ Thanks to HitokiriKurisuta for betaing this._

_**Disclaimer:**__ Transformers doesn't belong to me in any shape or way. _

* * *

Ironhide was meticulously reading through the document in his hands. Normally, he wouldn't have deemed it necessary to give it more than a passing glance, but he had already spotted a couple of errors in the report. Errors that shouldn't have been there. Errors that normally _wouldn't_ have been there.

No, Prowl was not one to usually make mistakes, and that was even more reason for concern. The weapons specialist looked at the back that was turned to him; its owner blindly starting at the numbers on the computer screen in front of them. Although his posture had always been stiff, Ironhide could see a different kind of tenseness to it, and it had been a recent addition.

He wondered if he should point out the blatant errors to the tactician, or keep quiet and make the necessary changes himself later on. The blank look in the other mech's optics made it clear that other things were currently occupying his processor.

What those things were exactly, Ironhide didn't know. But he wasn't a dimwitted mech and could easily guess at what they revolved around, even if Prowl had said nothing. And lately, every mech in the Ark had been tipping on their toes around the tactician, no one daring to bring up the delicate matter in his presence. Ironhide, although not a shy mech by any means, had likewise been reluctant to address the issue.

But he did not like the current situation one bit, and he found recent developments oddly... unsettling. For him, the distinction between Autobots and Decepticons, between good and evil, had always been drawn with a sharp, un-crossable line. And hating the 'Cons as much as he did, he wanted that line to remain exactly where it was. War was complicated business, and far too often it placed mechs in situations that forced them to make difficult choices; choices where none of the available options were right, just differing degrees of wrong.

And in that reality, where the concept of right and wrong shifted ever so often, its shades as many and varied as those covering the ground under a forest canopy, he had found one never-changing truth; rigid and predictable like the motions of the planets.

Decepticons were evil.

A simple, and perhaps simple-minded conclusion, but it had helped him make sense out of an otherwise senseless war. Why else were they fighting? What else could motivate the immense sacrifices that so many 'Bots had had to make since its outbreak?

And that's why he wanted that invisible line there, the one that separated 'Bots from 'Cons. If there was in fact no real, innate difference between the two, if it was possible for a mech to switch factions as effortlessly as some vain mechs regularly changed their paintjobs, then how could the horrors of this war ever be justified? If there was nothing intrinsic that made the members of the factions different from each other? Then it would almost be like fighting one's own kind, instead of a vile, despicable enemy.

Jazz's defection had rattled that black and white world of his from its axis. True, he had heard of 'Cons – and even some 'Bots, slag 'em – defecting before, but they had only been the stuff of rumours and loose talk, never an actual mech he had faced in person.

But seeing the saboteur walking around in the Ark like any other 'Bot, a distinctive red symbol now on his chassis, had made Ironhide long for better days. Days when there was nothing calling his worldview into question, urging him to rethink his position.

No, he didn't like it one bit.

But, there was one thing he liked even less.

And that was seeing the tactician in his current mindset. While he had never considered Prowl an old mech – Ironhide's own, rather impressive age effectively prevented him from that – it seemed as if the Second in Command had magically aged several million years during the span of only a few days.

Why this was, Ironhide did not know. Of course, it didn't take a genius to figure out that recent happenings were somehow involved, but the specifics of why and how remained a mystery to him. He would have thought Prowl's reaction to be the opposite. Prime had, after all, accepted Jazz's defection and awarded the 'Con his newly-found status as an Autobot. Not only that, but the Autobot leader had – at least so far – refrained from putting a stop to the highly inappropriate relationship between the tactician and the saboteur, which Ironhide had expected him to. And still, Prowl acted like the weight of the world was on his shoulders.

Perhaps he should address the matter, now that he and Prowl were alone? The odds of him being able to do anything to help the tactician in his current situation were rather slim, but it was worth a try, wasn't it? Even if chances were that Prowl would take offense to the direct question.

He considered it for a moment, playing around with the words in his processor, trying to make them fit together. But it was like doing a puzzle with random bits and pieces that didn't match up. Whenever he encountered a jagged edge, there was a smooth curve up next; whenever there was a blue piece, the next one was covered in bright red.

He sighed. He had never had the gift of speech; instead preferring to express himself in as simple and straightforward a manner as possible. Where others would tiptoe around a sensitive issue with carefully chosen circumlocutions, he would freely speak his opinion, not bothering to sugarcoat anything as to spare other mechs' feelings.

Although, something was telling him that this time it wouldn't be a very successful approach. Under other circumstances, he would cheerfully have told Prowl that moping around like Cybertron had just been blown up would not help in the slightest, but the current situation seemed to call for more subtlety than that.

Subtlety, however, wasn't Ironhide's forte. But even he could ask Prowl a simple question of what was wrong, despite the fact that it would be awkward, seeing as how he had an approximate idea of where the problem lay and it was an issue he felt uncomfortable discussing.

He opened his mouth to speak.

"What's the estimated beta polarity?" The voice that cut through the silence, interrupting Ironhide, was hollow and weary, like it had reached him from the other side of the grave. A shudder passed through the red mech; it was as if all life had been drained away from the owner of that voice; leaving only an emotionless husk.

The weapons specialist fiddled with the report in his hands as he scanned the pages in search of the number the tactician had asked for. The digits seemed to dance on the pages; multiplying until they threatened to flood him like a dammed-up river suddenly released from its bonds.

There it was. His optics locked on the sought-after number, only an instant later realizing that it was all wrong. He quickly redid the calculations in his processor. There was no reason to add insult to injury and humiliate the tactician by pointing out the error to him.

"16.344. Give or take a few decimals," he blurted out, hoping the tactician hadn't noticed the little delay.

Though, casting Prowl a look, it was doubtful that he was in a state where he would notice much of anything. Ironhide stared glumly at the other mech who mechanically typed in the digits and then waited for the computer to perform the required calculations.

"The deviations are too high; we need to adjust the base values," he intoned flatly, as new numbers were flashing on the screen.

"Uh-huh," was Ironhide's only reply. He briefly considered trying to find something uplifting or amusing to say; but knew that this wasn't the moment. Instead, he reverted back to his previous silence, optics watching Prowl as he tried out new number combinations, fingers moving impatiently over the keyboard.

His slowly built-up determination to speak up had been whisked away by the awkward situation. During normal circumstances, Prowl would have asked for his opinion whenever they did routine maintenance like this, but today Ironhide had been utterly ignored. It was like being trapped in a bizarre play, Prowl's automatic, emotionless behaviour turning him into a puppet animated only by the strings attached to him, while the weapon specialist had been relegated to nothing more than an invisible extra in the background.

And the silence. Pressing. Cold. A black hole that mercilessly pulled all happiness towards its core, safely and securely trapping it within its hold, only to slowly but surely crush it.

It was remarkable how the mood of another mech could have such a far-reaching effect on him. Especially when he didn't know exactly what was causing the tactician's oddly distraught behaviour.

Could it be that he was having second thoughts about his inappropriate relationship with the 'Con?

In that case, Ironhide would be more than happy to support the Second in Command. Just how the saboteur had managed to snare Prowl, he could not even begin to imagine; the stoic mech was not one to let rash actions speak for him, nor allow fickle emotions to get the better of him.

On the other hand, no one could deny that – for all of his military and strategic expertise – Prowl was quite an inexperienced mech when it came to relationships. True, he had had a bondmate once who had been lost in the war, but that had been a long time ago and he had never taken on a new one; instead choosing to go without what many other mechs took for granted. Seen from that perspective, perhaps it wasn't so strange that Prowl had acted with so little self control when an unexpected opportunity had finally presented itself, and there were no spying optics around to pass judgment on his actions.

Still, this was a _'Con_ they were talking about. Surely the tactician should have known better than that? If he was truly that desperate, couldn't he have found himself an interested taker among his own faction?

Although, Ironhide had to admit that imagining the tactician with some of the other 'Bots in the Ark was laughable. Trying to convey the mental image of Prowl with Bumblebee, Beachcomber, or Cliffjumper made his processor want to squeak in protest. No, that was just plain wrong.

As was the tactician's relationship with the 'Con.

Again, he wondered why Optimus hadn't done anything to discourage it. Imagine, a Second in Command, who had more detailed knowledge about Autobot military strategy than anyone else, confiding in a _'Con_? The mere thought was unsettling.

And he knew there were more 'Bots than him who felt the same way. Lately, there had been few other subjects of discussion in the Ark, and feelings had been running high; angry voices had been raised, and strong opinions shouted. No doubt, this was a touchy, delicate subject. So touchy that one of the most heated arguments had almost ended with Cliffjumper and Sunstreaker getting into a fist fight with each other, only prevented in the last minute by Ironhide grabbing hold of the agitated Lamborghini and dragging him out of the room before there could be any violence.

Yes, so many opinions. At times, he was tired of hearing them. Like nothing else existed anymore outside of the unlikely couple. Like there still weren't 'Cons to fight, a war to be won, and all those other never-ending tasks to take care of. No, everywhere a mech turned, it was always Jazz and Prowl, Prowl and Jazz.

He sighed. No wonder the Second in Command had been so aloof lately. Even if the 'Bots were careful not to let Prowl overhear them, surely he must be able to imagine the sort of conversations that went on with him out of the room. And knowing that one was the current talk of the whole Ark could hardly be a pleasant experience. Then again, Prowl had never been a 'Bot to care very much about what others thought of him, always putting duty and the Autobot cause ahead of being well liked or appreciated by his fellow 'Bots. Ironhide had always admired that quality in him.

And a mech like Prowl, who was used to keeping others at a distance and having the occasional disparaging comment uttered behind his back, shouldn't get this distraught over the rumours that were travelling around the Ark, no matter how malicious they sometimes were. Surely there had to be something else bothering the tactician?

Well, it was his duty as a fellow mech not to let Prowl stew alone in his woes, if there was anything he could do to help. Again, Ironhide steeled himself, opening his mouth to speak up.

What few syllables left his vocalizer, though, were drowned in a loud, angry beep from Teletraan 1.

A mutter from Prowl, some buttons pressed, and the noise was abruptly cut short. The weapons specialist threw a glance at the warning messages that were flashing on the screen; apparently some of the sub-routines weren't stable enough and had to be adjusted.

Prowl once again crouched low over the keyboard, typing in new commands to rectify the problem. The red mech made a grimace. He would have to wait until the tactician was finished before making another attempt to bring up his concerns; bothering the other mech when he was busy fixing the sub-routines wasn't the best of ideas.

Lulled by the monotonous tapping of the keys, Ironhide's thoughts yet again started to drift away, returning to the unsolved mystery of the Ark's most recent bondmates.

One question in particular demanded his attention: had anyone dared to confront the Second in Command about recent happenings? Well, certainly Prime himself must have done so in that meeting he and Prowl had had after his return from Cybertron, even if no one else knew what had been said between the two officers. But the Autobot commander was Prowl's only superior, so it didn't really count.

For a moment, he felt a vague sense of shame on behalf of his fellow Autobots. Were they all so lacking in bearings that they pretended that nothing was out of the ordinary as soon as the tactician was around? He suspected that this was indeed the bleak, unpalatable truth. For all the comments and opinions he had heard the others utter, he couldn't think of one mech mentioning actually having talked to Prowl himself about things.

Then again, in a way it was understandable. Prowl didn't exactly encourage others to approach him with friendly talk and chit-chat, and certainly not with discussions about private, sensitive issues. But even if the tactician might be able to scare lesser mechs off with his cold manners, Ironhide wasn't about to let himself be discouraged.

No, he would ask the tactician straight out what was bothering him, and then he...

"Everything looks fine now. We're done here." Prowl's clipped words yanked the weapons specialist out of his reverie. Looking up, he saw the tactician turn away from the screen and head for the door.

Realizing that the opportunity for a well-needed private talk with the Second in Command was slipping out of his hands, Ironhide quickly stepped after him. He couldn't just let Prowl walk away now. It was a rarity that the common room was empty of other 'Bots, and he doubted that there would be another chance like this again.

"Hey, Prowl... hold on a sec," he urged, half-expecting the tactician to ignore him, either on purpose or because he was too deeply absorbed into his own thoughts to notice.

To his relief, the black and white mech stopped in his tracks, half turning around to face Ironhide. But still not making a full turn, as if he wanted to distance himself from the weapons specialist and what he had to say.

"Yes?"

"Uh... " Ironhide felt uncertainty creeping up on him anew. It would have been so much easier if he could have posed the question out of the blue, instead of having Prowl standing there, impatiently waiting for him to speak. Waiting, and looking at him with that unreadable expression in his optics.

Nevertheless, he'd better find his voice again before the other mech lost his patience and walked out on him.

"Just wanted ta check with ya... if ya're alright?" No, it wasn't the most eloquent way he could have put things, but it would have to do. It was better than keeping silent; better than pretending that nothing was wrong.

There was not even the tiniest flicker of emotion to be seen on Prowl's face as he replied.

"Yes, everything is fine."

Before Ironhide found his bearings to protest, Prowl had already turned on his heel and walked out of the door, leaving the red mech staring at the empty spot where the tactician had stood only a few seconds ago.

And, it occurred to Ironhide, the door to the main room wasn't the only door that Prowl had just closed behind him.

In the empty silence, the subdued hum of Teletraan1 was almost painful.


	4. Jazz and Beachcomber

_**Acknowledgements:**__ Thanks to HitokiriKurisuta for beta reading._

_**Disclaimer:**__ Transformers doesn't belong to me in any shape or way. _

* * *

Jazz was sitting on a prominent slab of rock at a comfortable distance away from the Ark, working recent developments over in his processor. At least Prime had finally relented on the ban he had implemented in regards to Jazz venturing outside of their headquarters, and he was now free to come and go as he wished like any other 'Bot.

Right now, he wanted to be alone to sort things out. And somehow, having the wide, open sky above him made thinking easier, as if the walls and ceiling of the Ark somehow kept not only his body, but also his thoughts constrained.

At least the other Autobots were finally starting to get used to his presence, and the level of animosity he had so strongly felt during his first few days of freedom had no doubt decreased. But it was a difficult process, and more than once had he noticed how one of his new comrades had instinctively flinched when they had encountered each other in the Ark's meandering corridors. While he was aware that it was an automatic reaction caused by the long years of seeing him as an enemy, he had still found it unsettling.

But apart from a select few mechs whom he suspected might never learn to accept his new status as an Autobot, he was finding himself on better and better terms with most of the inhabitants of the Ark. Many were still wary in their dealings with him – and who could blame them; he had, after all, exchanged laser fire with several of them in the past – but at least things seemed to be slowly heading in the right direction. And even though a few of the 'Bots still didn't like him one bit, none of his relationships had actually deteriorated from their initial status.

With one notable exception.

Prowl.

It truly hurt to admit it, but ever since his defection, he had felt Prowl slowly but certainly slip away from him, like quicksilver in a broken container.

At first, it had been negligible, and, to some extent, expected. Prowl definitely hadn't had an easy time either, Second in Command or not. Perhaps his rank had even served to contribute to the severity of things. A spaceship full of 'Bots who were more or less isolated from their comrades and former home back on Cybertron were already prone to gossiping among themselves, but particularly so when there was inflammatory stuff revolving around a respected, high-ranking officer.

And so, they had been talking behind the tactician's back. Even Jazz had noticed it; how a heated conversation would suddenly turn into an embarrassed silence as he and Prowl entered the room. Or how meaningful glances would be exchanged between some of the 'Bots when they thought that the Second in Command's optics were turned elsewhere. And almost everywhere, there had been looks of suspicion and accusation.

Prowl hadn't said much about this to Jazz, but the strain in the officer had been painfully obvious to his rather perceptive bondmate.

Unfortunately, Prowl wasn't a 'Bot who was used to talking about his feelings. He had the option to confide in his bondmate, and yet, he chose not to. Instead, he had withdrawn even further into his shell as a reaction to the stressful situation, reminding Jazz of the silent, stoic mech that he had first gotten to know back in that holding cell.

Jazz had on a few occasions tried to bring the subject up; to tell Prowl that he knew that his bondmate was going through a hard time and that he was more than willing to listen and offer his support, for whatever it was worth. But Prowl had never taken him up on his offer, instead choosing to dwell alone in his dark thoughts.

It was painful for Jazz to watch his bondmate sinking deeper and deeper into his own misery, but what could he do? It didn't help that the saboteur was himself plagued by the painful truth that it was _he_ who was the ultimate cause of his bondmate's torment. If it hadn't been for _him_, Prowl's comrades would never have talked about their Second in Command like this or treated him like a pariah, causing him such grief and distress.

Jazz had been unsure how to deal with the situation, and so he had withdrawn in turn.

And the voice whispering inside of him had been hard to ignore. The insistent voice telling him that if he left Prowl alone for a while and kept his distance, maybe their relationship wouldn't sting so much in the other 'Bots' optics, and then perhaps they would stop giving Prowl such a hard time. He had hoped that things would eventually improve on their own if given enough time, but to his desperation, the downward spiral was now spinning faster and faster out of his control, without any sign of slowing down.

And things had deteriorated even further after Prowl had come back from that fateful meeting with Prime, not long after the Autobot leader's return from Cybertron. The tactician had refused to talk about it, or say much of anything that evening. Jazz hadn't known what had been said between the four of their optics, but judging by his bondmate's reaction, Prowl hadn't taken kindly to it.

And now that Jazz had had his own private interview with the Autobot leader, it was now clear just what Prime had told Prowl. The same disturbing misgivings he had voiced in front of Jazz, but that the tactician had taken so much harder than him.

No wonder, of course. Prime was obviously the 'Bot that, apart from Jazz, meant the most to Prowl, and hearing his revered leader decrying his choice of bondmate must have been hard to deal with.

But that wasn't what had pulled the tactician down into the deepest of mental tar pits. No, it must have been that other thing Prime had told him – that perhaps Jazz's feelings weren't genuine, but merely some sort of twisted mockery of affection that had their origins in his previous dependence on Prowl while his captive.

It was a horrible thing to say to someone's face, and Jazz could see how nagging doubts were now plaguing Prowl as a result. His stiffer than normal posture, the lines etched in his face, the strain in his voice as he spoke – which he nowadays rarely did – all told the same depressing story. That his bondmate was no longer certain of the true nature of Jazz's feelings for him.

And naturally, Jazz had found himself insulted as well; not so much by Prime's words in themselves as by Prowl's subsequent reaction to them. It shocked him that his bondmate could believe such a thing. Hadn't his words and actions been more genuine than that? He had even defected, for Primus' sake!

And yet, Prowl was doubting him.

A wall seemed to have erected itself between the two, seemingly out of nowhere, where there had previously been open space. Jazz had on a few occasions desperately tried to break through it, but his efforts had not met with any of the success he had hoped for. All that had remained for him was to mutely stare at the imposing structure that now seemed to stretch far into the sky above, beyond the reach of his optics.

And so, the two had drifted further apart from each other, unable to stop the strong currents that were sweeping them towards the awaiting maelstrom. It hurt Jazz to see what his bondmate was going through, but he felt so utterly impotent to do anything to help, especially since Prowl acted like he didn't want that help in the first place. Every time Jazz would try to approach him, the Second in Command would withdraw, as if Jazz was a carrier of some sort of malicious, infectious disease.

"Hey, mind if I sit down for a while?"

The cheerful words and the hand that subsequently clamped down on his shoulder made the saboteur almost jump in surprise. He turned and saw the friendly blue face of Beachcomber looming over him, shielding the sun from his view.

Jazz hesitated. Right now, he wanted to be left alone to his own thoughts, but he wasn't in a position where it was wise to do anything that could potentially alienate anyone. He was still not a fully accepted member of the Autobot faction, and he knew he needed to work hard to convince everyone of his good intentions. Telling someone to beat it, as he might have done if it had been one of his Decepticon comrades, wasn't going to cut it.

Besides, he had taken a liking to the relaxed, unpretentious Autobot pretty much from the very start. He might as well invite him to sit down with him.

Jazz forced a smile. "Not at all, please have a seat," he offered and gestured at the empty space beside him, trying to muster an equal amount of cheerfulness for his own words.

The other 'Bot sat down next to Jazz, stretching his legs in front of him with a creaking sound. He was quiet for a while, as if he were contemplating deep, philosophical thoughts of his own. Then he looked Jazz straight in the optics.

"So, what's eating you?"

"Huh?" The direct question took Jazz aback, and he didn't have the bearings to formulate a proper response.

"Come on, anyone looking at you from a mile away can see that there's something bothering you. Mind sharing your thoughts with me? I know Decepticons aren't much into talking about feelings and such with each other, but I can assure you that sometimes it really helps." He gave a friendly, encouraging smile. "It's how we Autobots deal with our problems, so you might as well start getting used to it!"

Jazz looked down at his hands, and the fingers that were digging themselves into his palms, without him having noticed until now. Beachcomber was right, he supposed. He wasn't in the Decepticon faction anymore, so perhaps it was time to learn how to trust mechs other than his bondmate. After all, hadn't he just berated Prowl in his thoughts for keeping everything inside himself without letting Jazz in?

"I..." he started, and then immediately found himself at a loss for words.

"It's Prowl, isn't it?" Beachcomber helpfully continued for him, his voice mercifully devoid of the judgment and disapproval that had coloured so many of the other Autobot voices he had heard lately.

Jazz merely sighed. "Is it that obvious?"

The blue mech made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a snort. "You'd have to be blind not to see it. You've been moping around like a wet puppy lately, and we rarely see the two of you together anymore. It doesn't take a genius to put two and two together."

The words came as a surprise to the saboteur. He hadn't thought that anyone had noticed his current predicament, and certainly not that anyone would actually care.

"Yeah, you're right... things haven't been that swell between us lately. It's both of our faults, I suppose, but... " he started.

And before he knew it, Jazz found himself telling the other 'Bot everything that had transpired lately. The growing chasm between him and his bondmate, Prowl's meeting with Prime, his own meeting with the Autobot leader, and how things had just kept spiraling downwards from there. He hadn't intended to tell all this, but once he had gotten started, he found himself unable to stop.

But he realized, as the words kept pouring out of his mouth, that simply talking about his problems was having a strangely therapeutic effect on him. Even if Beachcomber wouldn't have any useful words of advice to give him, it felt good that _someone_ was willing to hear him out. Even if that someone wasn't his bondmate.

When Jazz was finished, the blue mech kept silent for a while, staring towards something only he could see at the horizon. Then:

"Did Prowl ever tell you that he once lost a bondmate?"

Jazz's optics widened, and he felt a sudden wave of sympathy for his bondmate rolling over him. No, Prowl had never mentioned that.

Beneath the sympathy there was also a small sting of annoyance. _So_ _typical of Prowl, never letting his bondmate in on anything, not even something like this!_ _How am I to ever understand him if he never _tells_ me anything? _

He shook his head. "I didn't know that. Was it long ago?"

"Yes, it was. I don't think Prowl was even Second in Command back then," Beachcomber replied solemnly. "And you know _that_ had to be a long time ago!" he added, trying to lighten the mood a little. Then he got serious again.

"I think a lot of Prowl's recent behaviour can be understood if you take that loss of his into consideration. Needless to say, it hit him very hard, and he hasn't taken a bondmate ever since. So naturally, we were all surprised when we found out that..." Beachcomber hesitated for a second, "well, that the two of you were bonded. It wasn't what anyone had expected from Prowl, and I suppose some of us got a little carried away in our speculations," he said apologetically, apparently ashamed on the behalf of his gossiping comrades.

"But anyway, I'd say that given Prowl's past – whether he realizes it himself or not – he's afraid that he will have to relive the whole ordeal again with you. And I don't think it's so much the danger that you could get killed in battle as the risk that you might leave him one day. Even though you're an Autobot now, you _were_ a Decepticon not long ago, and there is no way for Prowl to know for sure that you won't regret your defection and return to your former comrades, leaving him behind. And Optimus' comments about your feelings not being genuine certainly only served to add fuel to the fire," Beachcomber said, chin thoughtfully cupped in one of his hands.

Jazz considered this for a while. "So you mean that Prowl is pushing me away simply because he's afraid that he might lose another bondmate?" he asked ruefully, realization slowly starting to sink in.

"Something like that, yes. Prowl's not very good with emotions, so it seems like a reaction I would expect from him. He's an expert tactician, but feelings aren't his strong point, which I'm sure you've already noticed," the 'Bot said with a sad smile.

"So what was the name of Prowl's bondmate?" Jazz asked, changing the direction of their conversation somewhat. He knew that it didn't really matter, but even so, he wanted to know.

Beachcomber appeared to search his processor for a while. "Hmm, can't seem to remember, sorry. It was a long time ago, after all, and it was before I had been assigned to working with Prowl," he finally answered.

"That's alright. Just thought it would be nice to know," Jazz said, a bit distracted. He was still struggling with trying to come to terms with the fact that Prowl had had another bondmate in the past.

"I met him once," the blue mech continued as if he hadn't heard Jazz. "He was young and outgoing, and so full of life. It was a shame that he was taken away before his time."

Bright blue optics turned to Jazz. "But you know, you remind me a bit of him. Both of you are the opposite of Prowl; you're both everything that he isn't. And I think that's exactly what Prowl needs; someone who can put some balance into his life. So don't give up on him, alright?"

Jazz stared at Beachcomber in surprise. The unconditional support had come very much out of nowhere. He had just assumed that everyone in the Ark had been against his and Prowl's relationship, considering the snippets he had overheard and the looks he had seen. But realizing that there was at least _one_ single mech that supported it made his spark lighten considerably. Even if Beachcomber was the only one, the knowledge that he didn't stand totally alone in this was oddly comforting.

"I'm not giving up. Not yet anyway," he answered, feeling a tiny sliver of hope return. "Thanks, Beachcomber."

"No problems; hope it will work out for you in the end. I know Prowl isn't the easiest of mechs to deal with," the other mech acknowledged.

_Heh, he could say that twice_. Jazz snickered inwardly. Well, at least now he could better understand the reasoning behind Prowl's behaviour, if nothing else.

That didn't mean he knew what to do next though. He couldn't just waltz up to Prowl and assure him that he had no intentions whatsoever to leave him, now could he? The last couple of times he had tried to initiate a talk with Prowl, the Second in Command had just told him that he had work to do and didn't have the time. Despite that, Jazz had seen that his bondmate's desk had been empty and that all reports had already been placed in the outbound tray.

He had felt both angry and frustrated, but hadn't confronted his bondmate further. He should have, of course, but at the time he hadn't had the mental strength left. Now he wondered if perhaps it was too late, if the chasm between them had already grown too wide.

No! It couldn't be too late. There was still time, right?

There had to be. He had to sort things out with his unwilling and elusive bondmate, one way or the other.

But not right now. Prowl was still on duty, and there was no way to tear him away from those responsibilities; that well he knew the Second in Command.

He heaved a sigh, and noticed that Beachcomber was looking at him, the usual kind and thoughtful expression on his face. He had to admit that the blue mech's presence did have a certain comforting effect on him. And he was glad that he had finally found a real friend among his new comrades.

Despite his current mood, Jazz felt a grin forming on his face. He stood up and indicated something in the distance with a nod of his head.

"Hey, say we race each other to that hill over there?"


	5. Beachcomber and Bumblebee

_**Acknowledgements:**__ Thanks to my beta HitokiriKurisuta for pointing out the things that were wrong with the initial version of this chapter.  
_

_**Disclaimer:**__ Transformers doesn't belong to me in any shape or way. _

* * *

"Hey Bumblebee, mind giving me a hand with this calibrator?"

The yellow 'Bot stopped in his tracks, an unbecoming grimace marring his face. From the looks of it, he had probably been hoping to be able to sneak past Beachcomber without being noticed.

"Wheeljack asked for it, and I need someone to help me carry it to his lab. It's a bit too heavy for a single 'Bot like me, I've noticed," Beachcomber explained his predicament as he gestured towards a big, bulky thing at his feet.

Bumblebee eyed it warily, as if he were calculating the risk that it would crush a small 'Bot like him beneath its weight, should he slip and lose his grip so that it fell on him.

"Sure thing, I'll help you out," the little mech finally offered somewhat reluctantly. He approached the apparatus and grabbed hold of the handles on one of the sides while the other 'Bot did the same on his side.

Together they managed to lift it, and started their laborious journey towards the engineer's lab, huffing and puffing almost in unison.

"There!" Bumblebee exclaimed victoriously when the calibrator had been set down on the lab floor and they straightened their aching backs. "Hey, we really deserve a drink of energon after all this hard work, say we go grab one in the mess hall?"

Well, Beachcomber supposed he couldn't say no to an offer like that. With all the work around the Ark lately, a break was more than welcome.

He followed the other mech into the mess hall and they sat down at one of the tables after having helped themselves to some energon from the common dispenser. Beachcomber sipped his drink slowly, savouring the feeling as the smooth, liquid-like substance slipped down his throat and spread further through his systems. Indeed, nothing could compare to some energon after having worked one's aft off.

The blue mech heaved a content sigh and slid further down in his chair, feeling his stiff limbs relax. He needed to do this more often.

After all, those other tasks that were still waiting for him weren't _that_ urgent. He could probably sit off an hour or two in here tomorrow as well; maybe he could ask Mirage to join him if Bumblebee turned out to be busy, or maybe even Ja...

His little reverie was interrupted by the sound of the other mech's voice.

"Oh, by the way, did you hear what happened in the main room today?" the yellow 'Bot asked as he leaned forward over the table, voice a bit more subdued than usual.

The other mech raised an optic ridge questioningly, a minuscule hint of curiosity on his face. "No, I've been in the computer room almost all day, so I guess I've missed out on pretty much anything that's been happening around here. Anything interesting going on?" he asked, wondering what Bumblebee was about to tell him. Judging by the other mech's behavior, it didn't seem to be anything quite ordinary.

The yellow 'Bot didn't need to be asked twice. "Well, Jazz and Prowl were _arguing_. And I'm not talking about the sort of bickering that some mechs keep at when they've been bonded for like a million years or something. Nope, they were really _fighting_. Not _physically_ fighting of course, but you know what I mean," Bumblebee explained incredulously to his friend, stopping only to draw his breath.

Beachcomber quickly stepped in with the first question that burned in his processor, before the other mech had a chance to continue.

"What were they arguing about?" he asked, not sure he wanted to know.

This was a disturbing development, to say the least. Beachcomber had been fervently hoping that Jazz would manage to get his and Prowl's relationship back on track, or at least turn it around to face in the right direction. But with all the work that had been piling up lately, he hadn't had the opportunity to talk to Jazz, and so didn't know what had transpired between the two bondmates recently. And this was worse than he had expected.

"I don't know. I wasn't actually there myself," Bumblebee said, a bit sheepishly. "But Bluestreak told me about it. He walked into the main room right in the middle of them going it at, so he heard at least some part of the drama."

_I should go find Jazz and see how he's doing_, Beachcomber thought. If this was true, the ex-'Con probably needed another mech by his side. But he wanted to hear as much as possible about the events that had transpired before he tried to give Jazz any advice, seeing as how the saboteur's own retelling was unlikely to be the most objective one.

"And Bluestreak described it as almost surreal, with both of them shouting at each other as if no one else was in the room and could hear them." Bumblebee elaborated rapidly. "And it ended with Jazz calling Prowl – can't believe he dared to insult a superior officer in front of everyone like that, even if it's his bondmate – a 'slagging, up-tight pain in the aft' and telling him that his most prominent skill consisted of making his bondmate's life miserable! And Prowl just stomped off without saying a word. Can you believe that!" the little 'Bot exclaimed, sounding like he could hardly believe it himself. "I mean, where did all _that_ come from? Never would have imagined the two of them having problems meriting anything like this..."

Yes, disturbing developments indeed. Had there been something specific causing this little shoot-out, or was it simply an inevitable outcome of all the emotional stress and frustration that had been brewing in the circuits of the two mechs lately?

A pang of pity stung his spark. While he supposed that Jazz wasn't blameless in this – and most likely, he was the one who had instigated and provided most of the fuel for the argument, seeing as how he was so much more emotionally volatile than his bondmate – Beachcomber was certain that this outcome was the total opposite of what Jazz had wanted.

But as the saying went, the way to the Pit is often paved with good intentions.

It saddened him, because he had truly hoped that things would work out between them. Not just because he considered Jazz a friend, but there were deeper reasons at play as well.

Beachcomber's nature had always been that of a true pacifist, and he had been one of the last neutrals to choose allegiance, after long last realizing that the vain hopes he had entertained of being able to stay out of the war altogether were futile. And so, he had sided with the Autobots, seeing as how the Decepticon values had done nothing but repulsed him.

But he still loathed war and fighting as much as he had when still a neutral; that much hadn't changed. It hurt him to see how it destroyed the peaceful Cybertronian way of life and brought so much misery, not only to their home planet, but to Earth as well. If there was one thing he was hoping for more fervently than anything, it was for the two warring factions to find peace with each other.

And to him, Jazz and Prowl's relationship held an important symbolic value to it. Sure, Jazz was only one single Decepticon, and there was still an entire army of them to go, but if at least _one_ 'Con was willing and able to give up his allegiance and bond with an Autobot, that was enough to give Beachcomber a tiny shred of hope.

Silly as he knew that the notion was, somehow it seemed to him like his dreams of peace hinged on whether this unlikely relationship would work out or not. As if the two mechs represented the very unification of the two factions that Optimus had talked so long and lividly about, and that Beachcomber supported with his whole spark.

But perhaps it was not to be.

He clenched his fist; a sudden, uncharacteristic wave of anger suddenly rising within him.

"Well, what do you expect, the way everyone in the Ark has been acting lately?" he snapped, unable to contain his resentment any longer.

Bumblebee jerked and fixed the other 'Bot with optics wide in surprise; it wasn't every day one got to hear the Ark's resident pacifist raise his voice in anger.

"Whoa, take it easy now. It's true that some 'Bots haven't been that nice and welcoming towards Jazz, but nowadays he seems rather accepted by most of us," the little mech said a bit hesitantly, as if he couldn't understand why his friend had gotten so worked up all of a sudden.

Beachcomber sighed in exasperation. It was clear that Bumblebee hadn't been recruited for his intelligence. Then again, neither had he, he supposed.

"That's not what I'm referring to. I mean the way everyone has been talking about the two of them... _behind their backs_," he answered, trying to calm himself down.

"Oh... _that_." The yellow mech nodded slowly. "Yeah, I agree that all those rumours have gone a bit overboard. But in a way, I suppose it's to be expected. Nothing like this has ever happened before, so of course everyone in the Ark is bound to try to find an explanation for it. I've certainly never heard of a 'Con defecting to bond with an Autobot before, have you?" Bumblebee said, sounding like he wanted to both agree with Beachcomber and at the same time defend his comrades.

"No. I doubt that it has ever happened before," the other mech admitted. "But when you think about it, why is it we consider it such a strange thing? Before the war, there were no restrictions on who could bond with whom, no artificial borders between mechs that prevented them from taking bondmates." There was now a distant longing in Beachcomber's voice, perhaps for better times long gone. "But if those borders are broken down again, then maybe we will be able to find peace once more."

Bumblebee didn't look convinced. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that the mech in front of him had always had a reputation of entertaining rather naïve notions as far as the war between the two factions was concerned.

"Ah, come on now, don't tell me that _you_ would ever like to bond with a Decepticon if given the opportunity?" Bumblebee asked.

Beachcomber made an effort to quench the sigh that wanted to escape from his vocalizer. That had _not_ been his point. Sometimes the little mech could be pretty dim.

"That's not the issue here. But to answer your question, no, I wouldn't want to bond with any of the 'Cons the way they are. Still, haven't you ever thought that maybe some of them might not be all that bad, after all?" At the look the other mech gave him, he quickly hurried to explain himself, as to not risk Bumblebee running to Optimus to tell him they had a Decepticon sympathizer in their midst. "I'm sure the 'Cons are, on average, a nastier bunch than us Autobots. But I can't help but to think that at least some of that stems from what is expected from them, and what is encouraged and rewarded among their kind. Of course that is bound to shape you and your actions."

And Beachcomber had to admit, although he didn't bother to tell the other mech, that he had met several 'Bots in his life that he suspected could have made quite fine Decepticons, if they had made another choice in life.

Bumblebee still looked doubtful. "But if they were all that good to start with, they wouldn't have joined up with the wrong faction in the first place, would they?"

"Maybe not. But all I'm saying is that sometimes you make the wrong choices; either because you're too young and inexperienced to know any better, or because you don't know how to get your priorities straight. Or for some different reason altogether. I just don't think the issue is as clear-cut as you do," he said, wondering if his little friend would ever understand his point. But then again, he certainly wasn't the only one with this black and white mindset.

But at least, Bumblebee seemed willing to listen to his ideas. Whereas he knew from experience that certain other 'Bots would just wave his ideas off as nothing more than whimsical at best, and borderline treacherous at worst. But he thought it was important to put some gray areas into the picture as well, since the way to peace would only be hindered by those simplified worldviews that far too many mechs subscribed to.

Indeed, if one viewed the opposing faction as representatives of pure evil, totally absent of any redeeming features or ability to do good, there was little incentive to put a stop to the war. Even if it would be so much better if it ended with some sort of reconciliation instead of a total annihilation of the other side, who would ever support the first option if they thought the enemy to be completely irredeemable?

"I don't know about that," the yellow 'Bot questioned. "All 'Cons I've met have seemed pretty slagging vicious to me."

"Really? And would that include the ex-'Con who fixed your transformation cog the other day when both Ratchet and Wheeljack were occupied elsewhere?" Beachcomber asked pointedly.

Bumblebee was quiet for a while. Then: "Yeah, but that's _Jazz_. That's... different." There was a minute tinge of hesitation in his voice, as if he wanted to express something that he thought should be obvious to anyone, but in spite of that couldn't find the right words for.

"How so? He was also a 'Con not long ago."

"But at least he had the good sense of defecting. I can't see any of the other 'Cons doing that," the yellow 'Bot managed to explain.

"We don't know. Most of them never got a chance to. Perhaps there are others than Jazz who might consider the option of defecting, even if we wouldn't think so."

Bumblebee merely shrugged. "Maybe. But I'll..."

He was interrupted by a beep from his internal chronometer. "Whoops, seems like my next shift is about to start. Gotta get going; see you later!"

And with those words, he stood up and made for the door, his cheerful face looking as if he had already forgotten all about the discussion the two of them had just had.

Beachcomber stared at Bumblebee as he walked off. For him, things were so easy. Drawn in black and white. But then again, he had been an Autobot almost from the very start. Beachcomber, on the other hand, hadn't. Having belonged to one of the last isolated groups of neutrals, he had during the years watched many of his former comrades choose sides and walk off, one after one; sometimes jointly, and sometimes alone. He had heard the various arguments countless of times; occasionally well informed, but perhaps just as often based more on wishful thinking than anything else. And while most of his closest friends had chosen to join up with the Autobot faction in the end, there had been a few choices that had surprised him. Enough to convince him that not every 'Con had picked his faction because of some moral failing.

As for him, he had never regretted the side he had chosen. But still, he acknowledged that there was nothing as simple as pure good or pure evil in this.

His only regret was that not all his comrades saw things they way he did.

* * *

_**End note:**__ In order to clear up any confusion this last chapter may have caused regarding the encounter that the previous chapter hinted Jazz was going to have with Prowl, well, it's one of those things that I have deliberately omitted. As was mentioned in the A/N of the first chapter, this story's purpose is not to spell out everything that happens, but to give a picture of how different mechs react and relate to the issue of Prowl and Jazz's relationship. So what went on between chapter 4 and 5 is up for anyone to speculate about; perhaps Prowl made sure to busy himself with other things so that Jazz never managed to get some time alone with him before they had the big argument alluded to here; or perhaps they did have a talk, although Jazz never managed to get his point through to Prowl. It's up to the interpretation of the reader, really. _

_As for our tree-hugging blue friend's claim that perhaps the 'Cons are 'Cons more out of circumstances than any innate "evilness", well, that opinion must of course stand solely for him. Maybe he's right; maybe he's really out in the deep end with his ideas; again, this is up to the reader to decide._

_Also, I'll just mention that this chapter didn't turn out nearly as well as I had imagined, so now it's more of a filler than anything else. Next chapter will__ be a lot better though, promise!  
_


	6. Jazz and Thundercracker

_**Acknowledgements:**__ Thanks to HitokiriKurisuta for beta reading. _

_**Disclaimer:**__ Transformers doesn't belong to me in any shape or way. _

* * *

The warm rays of the sun were beaming down on Jazz's face where he was sitting on the ground of a large, grass-covered field. According to Autobot strategic mapping, it was situated in sector 4B; but area D-17 if one were to go by Decepticon denomination. And Autobot as he might be now, Jazz still thought of this particular place as area D-17.

This was not the first time he had found his way here since his defection. Quite the opposite, his visits to this area had been getting more and more frequent lately. Often, he hadn't even been thinking about where he was going – or driving, depending on his mood – he had just headed out, away from the Ark, and had then found himself here. At first, it had probably been an unconscious urge that had made him seek out this place, but this time he had gone here willingly and with clear intentions.

Despite the attraction that the place held to him, there was nothing special about the surroundings as such. No characteristic features or qualities that stood out; just a huge field in the wilderness spreading out as far as the optic could see. Neither was it particularly beautiful, and yet he had come here with increasing frequency.

The black and white mech stretched his legs out, his feet plowing deep dents into the grassy ground beneath. Birds were chirping happily all around him, but he hardly noticed the little organic creatures and the noises they made, deep into his own thoughts as he was.

The argument he had had with Prowl had been the final straw. Since then, the two mechs hadn't even talked to each other, and while Jazz regretted those hurtful words he had thrown at the Second in Command, he had truly meant them at the time. Still, seeing his bondmate's devastated expression before the mask of cold indifference quickly slipped back on had been hurtful to him as well. He would have felt better if Prowl had snapped something vicious back at him in return, instead of turning his back and walking away without saying a word.

Oh, if only he could go back in time to stop things from heading in the wrong direction. Not that he could pinpoint exactly when and where they had first done so, but surely there must have been some way he could have prevented the turn their relationship had taken, if only he had been in possession of the hindsight he had now?

Or wasn't there? Could it be that the two of them weren't made for each other, as right as everything had felt at first? Total opposites they were to be sure, but Jazz had found that he really liked having someone like that in his life, much as some of Prowl's habits and personality traits had grated on him at times.

But from where he was standing now, it seemed to be over, and the chasm between the two impossible to cross. At least before their argument, he had felt as if there were a narrow, invisible bridge hidden somewhere that would enable him to reach Prowl again, if he could only find it. But now even that small, alluring hope had been torn down, and the only thing left was vast, empty space staring back at him as he tried gazing over to the other side.

He huddled himself, trying to take comfort in the pathetic touch and not think of the times Prowl had held him close like that. He might as well start to get used to the thought that he would never feel the other mech's arms around him again. Sure, the bond they still shared would cause pain at first, but perhaps it would get better as time passed. At least he could hope.

Suddenly, Jazz's audio sensors snapped to attention. Beneath the birds' shrill chirping, he could hear, for the first time, the very sound he had come here for so many times. Although it was barely audible at first, he knew it too well not to recognize it immediately.

The energon in his systems almost stopped flowing. Even if this was what he had been waiting and hoping for, he had almost given up hope, and it was something of a shock to now hear the familiar sound growing closer and closer.

His optics lifted to the sky. There was nothing there but pale blue to be seen; even the small fluffy clouds of the early morning had drifted away. He squinted for what was presently unseen, but that he knew must be there _somewhere_.

And within short, a tiny black speck appeared on the otherwise spotless sky. It moved with impressive speed, the rumbling sound of jet engines approaching just as quickly. Jazz held his breath. Of all the times he had heard that sound in the past, this was the first time a feeling of apprehension and doubt accompanied it.

The Autobot looked on as the jet suddenly deviated from its perfectly straight trajectory, and started to circle around him instead of continuing on its originally intended path. Although, Jazz realized, it wasn't really circling him; instead it was moving in a downward spiral, slowly but certainly ascending to the ground.

Jazz waited, still breathlessly, as the jet seemed to fold on itself, and take the familiar shape of the mech that had been his closest friend among his former comrades.

Thundercracker.

The 'Con landed elegantly right in front of the waiting mech, already in robot mode as he touched the ground.

Then the two stood face to face with each other, both enveloped in an eerie silence as Thundercracker's jet engines had been shut off and the singing birds had been scared away by the unexpected intruder.

For a long time, nobody spoke. Jazz wondered what was going on in his friend's mind; and for a fleeting moment he almost feared that Thundercracker would raise his arm cannons and shoot the traitor where he stood, but nothing of the sort happened.

Well then, this was indeed what he had been hoping for all those times he had visited area D-17, Thundercracker's favourite area for solo flying. So many times had Jazz been sitting here, looking to the sky, hoping to spot the Seeker as he rolled or looped around, as he would often do when out of sight from other Decepticons. Hoping that his friend would deign fit to speak to him, even if he was no longer one of them.

Lately, his hopes had been more desperate. So much had happened since his defection, and his life had taken a turn he could never have foreseen when still a member of Megatron's army. And so many things still confused him; the way the Autobots did things, how they thought and interacted with each other. It was so different from what he was used to among the Decepticons, and sometimes he found it hard to keep up with his new comrades.

And he had to admit – much as he had grown to dislike the typical Deception mindset and wanted to distance himself from it – that mixed with the trademark brutality and contempt for kindness of his former faction, there was one redeeming quality.

Uncomplicatedness.

Despite the time he had spent with the Autobots, he still found some of their ways hard to comprehend. While among the 'Cons, things had been so easy, and the priorities so clear: Dominance. Strength. Coming out the winner while stepping on the weak.

Even if he no longer agreed with those sentiments, they were still concepts that were easy to grasp and understand. His former comrades – although Thundercracker was a notable exception – had for the most part been rather simple creatures as well, their lust for power being what drove many of their actions.

But the Autobots were so different from all that. He was growing to understand them better and better, but it was not an easy process. Not to mention that there was one 'Bot he was _really_ struggling with coming to terms with: His own bondmate. With all the roller coaster emotions and doubts that had been plaguing him, he now longed for some stability, a fixed point he could cling to in the storm that was raging around him.

And that was why he had come to area D-17 so many times: in the hope that seeing the familiar, well-known form of his old friend again would help clear his mind from some of his confusion. Granted, he had no idea what Thundercracker's reaction would be. Knowing him, it was unlikely that he would attack his former comrade, but the 'Bot still kept a wary optic on the cannons mounted on the other mech's arms. Just in case.

Thundercracker's optics were fixed on the red insignia on Jazz's chassis, as if he were trying to ascertain that it was truly there and not just some sort of strange optical illusion or figment of his own imagination.

"So it's true then," the voice of the Seeker finally cut through the silence. "You really _have_ defected. I wasn't sure whether to believe Megatron or not when he informed us about it, but now I see that he was indeed telling the truth."

Jazz nodded. "Yes, it's true. I'm an Autobot now." He wanted to say something more, but wasn't sure where to start.

"Why?" Thundercracker's question was directly to the point, but to Jazz's relief it wasn't antagonizing or even disapproving, just curious.

And wasn't there a small tint of something else in those words; not at all obvious, but merely hinted at, if even that?

...Jealousy, was it?

Perhaps he had only imagined it, but the reaction wouldn't have been totally out of character, going by what he knew of the other mech. If there was one 'Con who he could have seen as a potential defector, it would have been Thundercracker. It would have been more likely than himself, at least.

The 'Bot was struggling to formulate a proper reply to the question the other mech had posed. He knew very well himself why he had chosen to defect, but this wasn't the time to go into details about the whole ordeal of his captivity that had ended with his bonding to Prowl. A simple answer would have to do.

"Because I've bonded with one of them."

Thundercracker's optics widened in surprise. Clearly, this wasn't what he had imagined. And who could blame him? Jazz had certainly never heard of anyone defecting over a bondmate before; all previous defections, be they in favour of the 'Bots or the 'Cons, had all been about disillusion with the former cause of the defecting mech. The same reasons that would have made Thundercracker side with the Autobots, should he ever have decided to do so.

"So it isn't about you choosing the Autobot way over ours, then?" The blue and white Seeker sounded curiously disappointed.

"Well, that too, I guess." He hesitated. "I mean, I _am_ convinced that the Autobot way is preferable to what the Decepticons are struggling to achieve, but what made me do the jump to the other side... well, that was because of my bondmate," Jazz tried to explain, hoping it would make sense.

Thundercracker seemed to consider this for a while. It must have been quite a foreign concept to him, seeing as how such matters were given little importance among the Decepticon faction, and were even ridiculed and looked down upon with suspicion. A simple, no-strings-attached interfacing session with another mech was one thing, but becoming real bondmates was quite another, and not something that was generally accepted.

"I see," the Seeker acknowledged slowly. "Well then, tell me one thing, Jazz. Are you happy with the choice you've made?"

Now it was Jazz's turn to raise his optics ridges in surprise. He wasn't sure what he had expected from Thundercracker, but that question hadn't been it. And he didn't even know what the Seeker had been referring to when he had said "choice"; if he meant Jazz's choice to defect or his choice of bondmate. Perhaps the 'Con didn't know himself.

"I..." he started, unsure of how he should continue. The whole issue was far too complicated to start elaborating on now; the growing distance between him and Prowl, the silence, the arguments, and their recent fall-out; all the things that had been wearing him down lately. True, he _had_ been happy at first, but all those precious things that he had for such a brief time held in his hands had now been smashed into tiny shards before his very optics, the broken pieces now cutting deep into his very spark. And all because of no real reason at all – just simple misunderstandings, lack of communication and mutual distancing driving the downward spiral in an ever-increasing speed towards the point of no return. But despite all his efforts, he had been powerless to stop it.

No, perhaps it had never been meant to be in the first place.

He made another attempt to explain his dilemma to Thundercracker. "Well, I do believe that it was the right choice to leave the Decepticon faction and side with the Autobots; that much I don't regret. As far as my choice of bondmate goes..." he fell silent for a while, gathering strength to put into words what had been weighing him down for so long.

"To be honest, things haven't worked out between us, even if I had truly hoped they would. Perhaps it's too late to do anything about it now. Somehow, we've drifted so far apart from each other that I'm not sure that the chasm between us can be closed again." Depressing words, but true nonetheless. He watched as his foot dug itself into the ground, loosening large chunks of dark, compact earth.

"And you're not gonna try to do anything to prevent the thing you fear from actually happening?" There was a strangely pointed quality to Thundercracker's words, as if there was something else hidden behind them that the speaker had chosen to leave unsaid, and yet thought that the other mech should pick up on. Jazz looked up.

"Believe me, I have tried, but whatever I do, it doesn't help," the black and white mech replied bitterly.

He didn't want to talk about this anymore. It wasn't why he had sought Thundercracker out, quite the opposite. He had hoped to escape from all his dark thoughts, not wade through them once again with his old friend. His mind tried to quickly bring up another subject, and his processor grabbed onto the first thing it found.

"So haven't _you_ ever thought about it? Defecting, I mean? We've been comrades for so long, Thundercracker; I've long ago gathered that you're not fully convinced about the cause you're supporting, whether you want to admit it or not," Jazz blurted out. It felt oddly satisfying, finally getting those thoughts out in the open about the observations he had been making for so many years, and yet had never dared to speak out loud. Such things would probably have lead to both of them being permanently deactivated, had anyone overheard them. But now Jazz was an Autobot, and so Thundercracker could speak freely, if he wanted to.

There was a mellow expression on the Seeker's face as he finally replied. "Believe me, I _have_ thought about it. Many times. But in the end, I can't." The confession rolled off his tongue with surprising ease, considering the strong taboo associated with defecting.

"What do you mean you can't? It's easy enough, if you make up your mind to. You can just fly yourself over to the Ark, and none of the 'Cons would know a thing before it's too late. The Autobots would welcome you – well, most of them, anyway. And you don't have to worry about getting shot down by accident, I can warn the others so they know they shouldn't fire, and then..."

Jazz's ramblings were interrupted by the calm voice of his friend. "That's not what I meant. I can't defect because I'm a _Seeker_," the white and blue mech said, an uncharacteristic touch of sadness now tinting his words. Then his voice shifted somewhat, and he looked Jazz straight in the optics.

"And as I'm sure you're well aware, that means I have two bondmates I would be leaving behind if I were to defect," Thundercracker replied, and now there was again that strange, pointed quality to his words; one that seemed to urge Jazz to make an effort to find the hidden meaning behind what was said.

And then, suddenly, it all hit Jazz like lightning from a clear blue sky.

Thundercracker, as part of a Seeker trine, had had his bondmates chosen for him the moment he had joined the trine. As with all Decepticon military teams that worked so close together, their individual members were all bonded to each other. While taking a bondmate under any other circumstances was discouraged and highly suspect, this was the one exception to the rule. The strong, intimate bond that bondmates shared with each other had – in a way that was so typical of the Decepticon faction – simply been perverted and taken advantage of to strengthen the military might of Megatron's army.

Of course, such a tightly knit group as a Seeker trine or a gestalt team functioned so much better if the members were all bonded, whether they wanted to be or not. And so, Thundercracker's bondmates had been chosen for him, without his opinion being asked for or cared about in the slightest.

But he, Jazz, had been able to make his own choice. He was no longer a Decepticon, no longer a mech whose choices would be made for him based on the whims and wants of a mech like Megatron. No, he was free of all that now and had his own say in his destiny.

Perhaps that was what being an Autobot was all about. Unlike Thundercracker, who had been bonded to Starscream and Skywarp, regardless of his own feelings on the matter, Jazz had been able to make his own choice.

And he had chosen Prowl.

Somehow, it all seemed so clear to him now, as if a strong gust of wind had whisked away the mist that had covered his optics, without him having realized that it was there until it was already gone. No, unlike all those years as a Decepticon, he now had the freedom to put his own wants and needs in first place, and not those of a raving lunatic of a leader. He had made up his mind about what he wanted, and he wasn't about to let anything stop him now. Not even if he had to beat some sense into that daft bondmate of his would he allow this to slip out of his hands.

Such a simple thing, and he had never given much thought to its profound importance. But Thundercracker had realized the significance of it all, and had in his own subtle, unobtrusive way made Jazz realize it too. The Autobot couldn't help but to feel a sting of pity for his friend though. Now that he understood what it meant to be bonded to another mech, it seemed like such a travesty that an intimate bond like that could ever be forced upon someone.

He felt a shiver running down his back at the thought, coupled with gratefulness that his former function among the 'Cons had been as a saboteur. As such, he had worked solo most of the time and had never been required to bond with any of his comrades.

He met Thundercracker's gaze, and where there had previously only been desolation and dejection, determination and certainty now radiated from the Autobot.

"I do understand now why you've never defected, Thundercracker. I never did before I got a bondmate of my own, but now I know what a bond means, and so I can see why you wouldn't wish to leave your own bondmates behind. I'm just... sorry... that you never got to make your own choice about it like I did," Jazz said, a note of stubborn determination creeping into his voice. "And so, I'm not gonna give up on things, I can assure you."

Thundercracker managed a lop-sided smile. "Well, I'll be slagged; maybe you're not as slow-witted as I might have suspected at times." He was about to say something else, but a crackle from his transmitter stopped him, and a familiar, raspy voice came on-line.

It was Megatron, calling his soldiers back to base for what was apparently a briefing on a newly found energy source, which seemed like it had the potential to be successfully exploited by the Decepticons.

The Seeker heaved what sounded suspiciously like a heavy sigh. "Well, I need to get back. Good luck, Jazz. I suppose I'll see you around sometime."

With those words, he transformed and took off, leaving Jazz staring after the jet until there was yet again nothing but the pale blue of the sky to be seen.

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_**End Note:**__ Nearing the end now; only one more chapter to go!  
_


	7. Prowl and Jazz

_**Author's notes: **__So, seventh and final chapter! Thanks to everyone who has been reading/reviewing! _

_**Acknowledgements:**__ Thanks to HitokiriKurisuta for beta reading. _

_**Disclaimer:**__ Transformers doesn't belong to me in any shape or way. _

* * *

Prowl was staring at the pile of papers on his desk, which had been growing considerably in height lately. The situation was unusual for the Second in Command; under normal circumstances he would never leave a report lying around like that for more than a couple of days, at the very most.

But circumstances weren't normal anymore. He tried to focus on the piece of paper before him, but somehow the words seemed strangely disjointed and refused to form proper, understandable sentences. He put it down with dismay; that there was no point in trying to get any further work done when he was in this mood; a mood which he had been in for several days now.

Ever since that fateful argument with his bondmate.

Gray fingers suddenly grabbed the piece of paper they had let go of an instant ago, crumpling it into a tight ball. Not only his fingers were clenching, but his spark too. And it hurt.

Recollection of their pointless argument was once again flooding his processor uninvited, driving everything else out, leaving only desolation and regret in its wake. He couldn't even remember what had started it, but the words that had been thrown at him stood out as clear and pointed as ever; like sharp daggers piercing through his armour.

Had Jazz truly meant the words he had said? It sure had sounded like it. And even if the Second in Command had to admit that his bondmate had a point, the insight didn't stop the words from being just as hurtful as when they had first been spoken.

He couldn't understand how things could have deteriorated like this. True, the start of their relationship had been rocky, seeing as how a bonding between an Autobot Second in Command and a recently defected ex-'Con was bound to raise questions and dislike. That much he had realized from the very start, even though he had been unprepared for the severity of it. That there would be some gossiping and talking going on behind his back was also to be expected, but not to such an extent.

Having felt himself distanced from his comrades, he had withdrawn into himself, and had in the process ended up distancing himself from Jazz as well. It hadn't been his original intent to shut his bondmate out like that, but he had convinced himself that perhaps it was the best option for now; if the two kept a distance between themselves at first, maybe the other 'Bots wouldn't be so bothered initially, having time to grow to accept the unusual relationship.

Of course, his plan hadn't worked out at all. He should have realized that much, but he had so little experience handling these sorts of issues. He was a tactician after all; battle plans and martial strategy were his strong points, but unfortunately such talents did not translate well into dealing with emotions and feelings. Particularly not when another 'Bot was involved.

But even though he and Jazz had drifted further and further apart, it had still seemed as if the distance between them could be bridged, if only they made an effort to. That was, until Optimus had returned from Cybertron and subsequently called Prowl into his office.

The tactician still remembered the chill between himself and the Autobot leader as clearly as the day he had sat there in Optimus' office, staring into his optics and seeing the cold dislike that his commander tried to hide, but was so utterly unable to. That Prowl's comrades were slow or even unwilling to accept his choice of bondmate was one thing, but hearing the mech he respected more than anyone voice his own take on it, in no uncertain terms, was quite another. The Second in Command hadn't been naïve enough to think that Optimus would simply accept the state of the matter without question, but his leader's absolute, relentless condemnation had been hard to handle.

But even that he could have dealt with. It was those other words that Optimus had uttered that had pierced through his very spark: The dreadful assumption that Jazz's feelings for his bondmate were not as real and genuine as he had assumed.

Upon first hearing those words, he had felt insulted, but not truly believed them. Then, as they had started to sink in, nagging doubts had started to make themselves known. At first, they had been small, but had quickly grown in both frequency and strength, until they would strike him with full force whenever he looked at his bondmate.

And when he had finally mustered the courage to seriously ponder it, the essence of that awful question that Optimus had posed had started to burn a hole into his very being. _Would Jazz _really_ have chosen him as his bondmate under different circumstances_?

Prowl wasn't so sure anymore. They had, after all, bonded under highly unusual circumstances, and it was not farfetched to assume that the saboteur had deceived himself in regard as to what he truly felt. And if Jazz had originally been an Autobot, what were the chances he would have chosen _Prowl_, out of all the 'Bots among the Ark's crew?

He threw the crumpled ball of paper away from him in frustration, and watched it fly through the air and hit the wall with a dull thud. Only Primus knew how he could have deceived himself for so long! No, of course Jazz would have chosen another mech to be his bondmate, without sparing as much as a glance for the resident stuck-up tight-aft of the Ark. So preposterous of him to think any differently.

And his bondmate would certainly not have had any difficulties in that endeavor either. No, with Jazz's looks, finding interested takers wouldn't have posed a problem. Prowl recalled, as a pang of jealousy hit him, how he had more than once watched Sunstreaker's optics glide across the room, coming to a noticeable halt as they reached Jazz, and then remain there, feasting in the sight of the former 'Con.

Prowl had never thought himself to be a jealous mech, but that little observation bothered him more than he wanted to admit. He had always thought that Sunstreaker would be one of the most reluctant 'Bots to accept Jazz's new affiliation, considering his rather unyielding views on Decepticons. But no, Sunstreaker had been friendly almost from the very start, not exhibiting the hostile tendencies that Prowl had expected.

Oh sure, Jazz hadn't encouraged or returned Sunstreaker's courtesies – Prowl doubted that his bondmate had even noticed them in the first place – but it still served to drive home the point that it was only the circumstances that had pushed Jazz into choosing Prowl.

Yes, he had truly been naïve thinking otherwise, and it would only be a matter of time before Jazz would arrive at the same conclusion as Optimus and Prowl had. That was, if he hadn't already.

Prowl didn't want to think about that, though. Putting their relationship to a definite, official end was bad enough, but seeing Jazz eventually taking another bondmate would be horrible. He wasn't sure he would manage to remain in the Ark anymore when that happened. Perhaps Optimus would allow him a transfer to Cybertron. Despite the things the Autobot leader had told him during that meeting, Prowl did understand now that it had been with the best of intentions, and surely Optimus wouldn't force his Second in Command to stay here when it would so grievously hurt him?

He certainly hoped not. Much as his tactical abilities were needed here, there were other skillful tacticians on Cybertron that would be able to replace him. And his talents could be put to good use on their home planet as well. So he would go back there, while Jazz would...

He punched his fist into the wall beside him, putting dents not only into the structure itself, but also his knuckles. _How was it possible that something that had started out so well had ended like this?_ He wanted Jazz back so desperately his spark ached, but it was too late now. And in the end he knew that things probably couldn't have turned out any differently, no matter what he had done.

There was an unexpected knock on the door, and Prowl looked up from the hands his face had buried itself in – who was disturbing him now, this late in the evening? He hesitated as to whether he should tell the mech outside to come in or remain quiet and pretend he wasn't in here, but before he had made his mind up, to his surprise the door was flung open.

And in stepped Jazz.

Prowl reeled at the unexpected sight as if he had seen a ghost. But he quickly collected himself, desperate to keep appearances up and pretend that nothing was out of the ordinary.

"Stepping into an officer's room without permission is a..." he began automatically, but was cut short by Jazz.

"Shut up, Prowl."

Prowl's jaws snapped shut, superior officer as he might be. Jazz speaking to him like that had come out of nowhere. Any other 'Bot would of course have been sternly reprimanded for such an utterance, but now all Prowl managed to do was stare back at the offending mech.

With a few quick steps, Jazz crossed the room and came to a stand before Prowl. He bent down over his bondmate, hands gripping the armrests of his chair, their faces only inches away. For all intents and purposes, Prowl was trapped, not only by Jazz's physical form preventing him from rising from the chair, but by the look in his bondmate's optics that felt as if they were drilling two holes into the tactician.

And all Prowl could do was stare back into those optics; any words that he might have wanted to say effectively stuck in his vocalizer. Jazz, though, didn't suffer from the same problems. As he spoke, his words were short and succinct, leaving no room for protest.

"I'm sick and tired of this stupid charade. You're my bondmate, Prowl, and I've even defected because of you, so please _stop doubting me,_" the black and white mech all but growled at him. "I know you can be really dense at times, but I've had enough of all this slag going on between us. I won't accept any more of it. From now on, I expect you to behave towards me like a proper bondmate should."

Jazz's face moved closer – his whole demeanor expressing an amount of decisiveness Prowl had never seen in him until now – before he continued. "And that means, for starters, that you're gonna move your aft to that recharge berth over there right _now_, unless you want me dragging you. Got it?"

_What the –  
_

It was all the tactician had time to think before Jazz's lips were claiming his in a hard, but not at all unpleasant kiss. And only a short moment after, Jazz had grabbed hold of one of his wrists, pulling him out of his chair, leading him towards the awaiting recharge berth in the far corner of the room. Prowl merely followed, still too shocked to protest.

"That's much better," were Jazz's only words as the dazed tactician had been eased down on the smooth surface of the berth. Before Prowl knew how and when it had happened, Jazz was straddling his lap, the familiar weight of his bondmate odd after having gone without it for so long.

Prowl felt himself pulled into a tight embrace, followed by a hand softly tracing his facial features. The fingers moved over his lips and his cheeks, and continued up towards his chevron, caressing its spiky ends carefully. The tactician gasped at the soft touches; relatively innocent as they might be, he had been aching with longing for so long, and the light caresses were enough to leave his dermal plating tingling after Jazz's hands had passed over it. The trails the fingertips left felt like they were on fire, and he could tell exactly where they had traced their way across his face.

Beginning to recover from his initial shock, Prowl hesitantly lifted the arms he had kept limp at his sides and allowed them to encircle the form of his bondmate. He didn't dare to speak, fearing that perhaps this was only a dream, and that the sound of his voice would make it all disappear before his very optics. No, regardless of whether this was real or just a wonderful mirage, it was better to enjoy in silence as to not break the spell.

The warm metal of Jazz's chassis was soft as silk as he greedily held the other mech close, as were he expecting someone to appear at any second and drag the saboteur away from him. And so, he clung to his bondmate as someone shipwrecked would to the only piece of flotation in sight. For the moment, it seemed like it was all that was necessary; if the two of them could remain like this forever, it would be more than enough.

The closeness of his bondmate made his spark pulsate in his chest. It was a strange but liberating feeling; how long ago had it been since he had last felt it doing that? He couldn't recall; lately, it seemed as if it had been frozen into immobility, into a desolate state where nothing would be capable of reanimating it again.

Prowl shivered as his sensors were heating up, increasing his perceptiveness to the wonderful touches Jazz was bestowing upon him. Sweet, tingling sensations were moving up and down his circuits as Jazz had taken to nuzzling the crevice between his neck and shoulder plates. The tactician pulled Jazz closer so that their chest plates scraped against each other, reveling in the marvelous feeling of metal against metal.

An eager hand had found its way to Prowl's thigh, gently massaging the smooth armour, then moving in expanding circles until it found the back of his knee joint. The caresses reached inside of his plating, first only touching the edges of the protective metal, but then dug deeper and took hold of a couple of delicate wires.

Oh, his knee joints had always been one of his more sensitive spots, and Jazz knew exactly what he was doing; knew precisely how to twist and tweak those wires between his fingers to make his bondmate reel in ecstasy. A muffled moan escaped the tactician's lips, face half-buried in the chest plate of the other mech as his glossa traced its curves. The taste was delicious; metal, oil and polish combining to form that characteristic, relished flavour of his bondmate.

He drank in the shudders he felt from the other mech as his ministrations sent jolts of pleasure through Jazz's receptors. Seeing and feeling the reactions as they surged through his bondmate was as good as feeling that pleasure himself.

The tactician tilted his face upwards, lips eagerly seeking out his bondmate's mouth. They found their goal, and Jazz answered with a passionate kiss of his own. In it, Prowl could feel a fervency that only denial could have brought out, and briefly wondered if his own kiss had the same desperate quality to it.

Considering all that had happened lately, it probably had.

He had lost track of how long they were trapped into that deep kiss. It could have been days for all he knew; time seemed to have lost all of its meaning and didn't matter anymore. All that existed was the concept of here and now; everything else was unimportant and hidden in the mist of oblivion. He deepened their kiss even further, feeling the other mech's legs clamp tighter around him, almost to the point of causing pain. But if so, it was the most delicious pain he had experienced in his whole life.

His hands found a bundle of wirings only partly protected by plates of black and white armour, and gently closed his fingers around it, stroking the length of the wires as far as the surrounding metal would let him. Jazz replied by reaching into a crevice on Prowl's chassis and grabbing hold of some wires of his own, mimicking his bondmate's ministrations. Prowl's sensors felt as if they were on the verge of exploding, with all those almost forgotten sensations racing through his body, igniting every circuit on the way.

Jazz hissed softly and leaned his head at the tactician's shoulder, breath coming in short pants. By the looks of it, his sensors were as over-stimulated as Prowl's. The tactician devoured the sight, covetously taking in the image of the shivering form of his bondmate that was straddling his lap. Had he ever beheld a more beautiful sight than this? He couldn't have imagined one even if his processors hadn't been on the verge of temporarily shutting off every part of his systems that weren't needed for the current activities.

He dragged Jazz with him as he lay down on the berth, almost draping the other mech over himself, as if he had been a blanket and the room temperature at freezing point. Their legs intertwined, Prowl sneaked a hand up and stroked one of the horns on Jazz's helmet; for some unexplainable reason he had always loved those things. Jazz whimpered softly, and clung to his bondmate, face nuzzled into his neck crevice.

Jazz's hot breath against his sensitive neck made the desire that Prowl had repressed for so long flare up with violent intensity. His hands wandered all over Jazz's body, caressing every piece of metal, every cable and wire as if they were the most precious things he had ever held in his hands. He wanted all of Jazz, and he wanted it now.

Chassis placed close together, their sparks had started to resonate against each other, sending vibrations through the sensors of the two intertwined forms. Through their bond, waves of ecstatic emotions and relentless pleasure surged back and forth, in an ever-increasing maelstrom. Prowl could feel the sensations his bondmate experienced as vividly as his own; jolts of electricity and sensor-igniting currents racing through his entire being. It was as if their two bodies had been joined together as one, like their division into two separate physical entities was only an illusion, and _this_ was their true form. It felt so right and so proper, that the previous distance between them now seemed like a heinous crime against nature, a breaking of all logic and reason.

No, this was the only way things were meant to be. The only way they could ever be. How he could ever have doubted something so obvious he had no idea, but that was a thing of the past, and not something that mattered anymore.

And soon, everything that had been building up within Prowl reached its peak and pushed him over the brink into overload. Bond wide open between them, Jazz reached overload at the same moment, and for a wonderful moment, nothing in the universe existed apart from the pleasure that was tearing through the joined form of him and his bondmate.

And then it was over. The two lay together, bodies intimately pressed together as the last remnants of the tingling sensations were passed between them.

At long last, Prowl slowly started to become aware of his surroundings again; the chassis that was touching his, Jazz's quiet breathing, the arms wrapped tightly around him.

Moments passed by. The tactician lay absolutely still, cherishing the feeling of his bondmate so close to him, a sensation that he had not long ago been certain he would never have again. His spark constricted at the thought; how close it had come to that!

He raised a shivering hand to Jazz's face, stroking the soft cheek gently. The saboteur onlined his optics, and met Prowl's gaze, an endearing smile on his lips.

"Jazz, I..." the tactician started, but a finger pressed to his mouth stopped him.

"Shh, we'll have all the time in the world to talk later, but right now, let's just enjoy this moment in silence for a little longer," the black and white mech said softly, taking Prowl's hand into his.

The other mech relented. True, they had a lot they needed to talk about, but that could wait; they were in no hurry. Still...

"Just tell me one thing; what made this... sudden change of mind come about?" Prowl inquired, unable to hold off his need to satisfy his curiosity.

Jazz offered him one of his characteristic grins. "Well, I realized something."

"And that was...?"

"That I've chosen _you_, Prowl."

--END--

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_**End note:**__ And all is well that ends well. Hope you've enjoyed! :)  
_


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